AWAKE
by WritingintheCandlelight
Summary: Two realities converge after a tragic accident tears one family apart. The young man caught between worlds cannot distinguish which reality is real and which is the dream. He uses names and wristbands to differentiate between the two. As he becomes entangled with the supernatural in both, he can't help but wonder... is he even... awake? Sterek. Slow build. Drabblish for now
1. Tragedy

_Tragedy_

High above the heavens were dark gray. It seemed fitting on a day such as this, reflecting the grim and solemn mood. Heavy clouds spread across the vast sky, thick and continuous droplets of icy cold rain pouring down with the occasional streaks of bright electricity illuminating the dreary atmosphere.

The flowers were the only bursts of color among the graveyard. They were arranged in a tasteful display around the surrounding mausoleums and gravesite. They did little to make the day seem less dreary, but people seemed to take comfort in the attempt at least. Flowers were not for the dead, after all, but for the living.

Mourners gathered around the shiny mahogany casket, each dressed in suitably dark clothing. Family and close friends all joined together to lament their loss. Many of their faces were twisted with grief, the downpour disguising the plump tears rolling down their cheeks.

It was a grave occasion and none remained unaffected from the death of such a great person. Unfortunately not everyone preset at this somber occasion was welcome. Some people were either photographers or news reporters here to cover the story. The press stood just beyond the police blockade, swarming to catch a glimpse of the devastated family.

Beacon Hills had one of the lowest crime ratings in the state; vehicular manslaughter was almost unheard of. The man responsible had been in an intoxicated stupor when he drove his car through the park, injuring many during his drunken joyride. He collided with a tree just after running down a family of three.

Only two of the family survived.

The young boy standing near the pastor had nearly died himself that day. His amber brown eyes never once looked away from the shiny mahogany casket in front of him. He wore a simple black suit that looked a bit baggy on his thin frame and clutched a small star shaped object to his stomach with all of his might.

Many people looked as if they wished to approach him, perhaps to pay their respects and offer condolences. None were willing to entice another episode though. Rumors of his numerous panic attacks since the incident traveled like wildfire throughout the small town. His sorrow was understandable though; to have lost a parent so young was such a terrible tragedy.

Calienim Stilinski was normally such a joyful, exuberant child. He usually spoke a mile of minute, bouncing from one topic to the next. Hyperactive was too mild a word to describe his typical enthusiasm for life. It hurt those who knew him to see him so still, silent and grieving.

Just as the pastor began the service, a beautiful young woman came to stand near the soundless child. Her hair was long and dark and she had stunning honey brown eyes. Twin streaks of tears followed the curve of her cheeks as she wept mutely. She dabbed at her face with a crumpled tissue, bright diamonds glinting in the flash of a camera from her left hand. She gave the boy a watery smile when he slid his small arms around her waist.

Mother and son watched the funeral together.


	2. Pattern

_Pattern_

It took all of three days after the accident for Calienim to realize there was something seriously wrong. He had always been called too smart for his own good. His parents often argued that his intelligence quota should be evaluated, but he protested the idea. He was an eleven year old outcast; he didn't need to be labeled as a freaky genius too.

The day he woke up in the hospital, his mother had been the one to tell him what happened. She attempted to soothe him, but he was inconsolable with the news that his father was dead. He felt responsible; he felt devastated. He could remember crying himself to sleep in her arms.

John Stilinski gave his life for his son on a Sunday afternoon. He took the brunt of the speeding vehicle, shielding the small boy with his own body as the car collided with them. He was declared dead on the scene. His son sustained a broken arm and a few bruises, but was otherwise left untouched with the final heroic act.

Calienim woke fully expecting to still be wrapped in his mother's warm embrace. He woke alone still in the hospital. He was confused to note that the room looked different, though he had no time to wonder what had changed exactly before the door swung open. He had his first panic attack when he realized who stood in front of him.

It took several minutes until the anxiety abated. His breath slowly evened out and he found himself being held by two strong arms. His hallucination cradled him gently, rocking him and whispering softly into his hair. His father felt too real though, tangible and warm.

Calienim clung to him and sobbed. He cried and cried until the point he could cry no more. He could not understand what was happening. He wanted so badly for this to be real; he wanted his father to be alive. He felt so confused. His distress only increased when his father deemed him stable enough to learn what happened during the accident.

Moira Stilinski gave her life for her son on a Sunday afternoon. She had been the one to grab him and use her body to shield him. The speeding car collided into her and she died upon impact. Her son sustained a dislocated hip and a broken arm. Her act of heroism was the only reason her son survived.

Secured in the arms of his father, the boy cried himself to sleep again.

Calienim noticed the pattern by day three. He woke with his mother wrapped around him, back in the room he initially woke up in the day after the accident. His father was dead again whereas his mother was still alive. His arm was still broken, but the pain in his hip was gone.

Back and forth in between two separate places. One day spent with his mother while the next was with his father. Neither existed where the other was; he never felt so alone. He kept waiting for one of them to come out and say it was all a joke. It was no joke though. He was the only one who knew.

By the end of the week, Calienim had to attend two funerals for both of his parents. His melancholy was not for their deaths, but for himself. How could he grieve for them when he had not lost either? His mind was in turmoil, intense confusion and terror warring inside him until he just felt numb.

Nothing made sense.


	3. Realities

_Realities_

Months passed without consequence or change. He still went to sleep and woke up somewhere else. Slowly his panic attacks subsided until they stopped entirely. He was more familiar with the situation now and new what to expect every time he closed his eyes at night. He was still anxious, but no longer terrified at least.

Days spent with his parents were upsetting though. He may not have lost anyone, but they each lost their spouse. His mother sobbed alone in her room at night after she put him to bed. His father began to drink excessive amounts of alcohol at night. Two halves of one whole divided through space and time.

Calienim ached for their losses even though he could not fully empathize. He could just see either of them by closing his eyes. His desire to help them had led to no good though. He saw how much they were hurting, how much they grieved, and mistakenly thought he could keep them connected to one another.

Build a bridge between them.

Talking about it worried them; they feared for his sanity. He heard his mother on the phone with a therapist the next day to make an appointment; elsewhere he saw his father with a pamphlet about grief counseling. He had no idea how or why this happened, but he wished they would believe him.

Doctor Martin was a nice lady. She had sandy hair and a radiant smile. She looked a bit like her daughter, Lydia; the girl he had been crushing on since the third grade. His mother certainly liked her. He liked her too, even if he was being forced to see her against his will.

"So tell me how this works," Dr. Martin said to him during his first session. She had a notebook in hand and thin wire framed glasses perched precariously on her button nose. He sat across from her in a comfortable plush chair, staring out the enormous windows at the rain. "Just start from the beginning."

Calienim was reluctant to talk about his experience. He knew his mother spoke with her briefly on the phone; he wondered if they thought he was crazy. "… I close my eyes," he told her quietly, watching the droplets roll faster down the pane of glass. "I just go to sleep… same as always."

Dr. Martin hummed thoughtfully. "What happens when you go to sleep?"

Calienim thought back to yesterday, walking downstairs to find his father passed out at the dining room table with pictures of his mother strewn about. "I wake up there… or here." He shrugged slightly. "It depends on where I am first."

"Where is _there?_"

"… Somewhere else," he said softly. "Somewhere different… it almost feels like I am looking out of a mirror only... everything looks the same. Smells the same, feels the same… the only thing that is different is my mom is the one that died and my dad is still alive."

"Do you interact with your father in your dreams?"

Calienim paused at her question, finally turning to look at her. "I'm not sure it is a dream," he admitted reticently. "It feels real. I can touch him and feel him." He reached out and ran his fingertip over the glossy ceramic figure of a dolphin on the table beside him. "This feels real too. Maybe this is the dream."

Dr. Martin lowered her notebook and studied him. "Are you saying that you can't tell whether you're awake or asleep at this very moment?"

Calienim shook his head slowly. "It feels the same. I close my eyes here and I wake up there. I close my eyes there and I wake up here. I never feel like I am sleeping and neither feels like a dream at all."

"I can assure you, Mr. Stilinski," Dr. Martin said evenly. "This is not a dream."

Calienim could only smile at her.

"What?" she asked curiously.

"… That is exactly what my other shrink said."

Miss Morrell was a nice lady too. Her hair was black and she had pretty mocha skin. She seemed quite young, but he liked her a bit more. She seemed… less technical. Her office was quite small and cramped, but the atmosphere was calm. Her initial questions were similar to what his other therapist asked; he answered similarly in kind.

"Your mother is alive in this other world?" Ms. Morrell questioned, a fascinated glint in her eyes. "This has been happening since the accident?"

Calienim nodded, picking at the hem of his shirt. "Yes, since I woke up in the hospital."

"Do you think you are dreaming now?"

"… Maybe," he said honestly. "It feels the same here as it does there."

Ms. Morrell shook her head in astonishment. "I can assure you, Calienim, you are very much awake."

"Then why is this happening?"

"People come up with all sorts of ways to overcome the loss of a loved one," she told him gently. "Your mind simply… entered an entirely new reality where your mother survived the accident. Have you ever heard of parallel universes?"

Calienim nodded hesitantly. "In books and movies."

"My understanding of the theory is that for every choice we make, there is a parallel universe in which we chose differently." She smiled at him. "In one reality, your mother chose to protect you. In the other, it was your father. Now, for whatever reason, you are alternating between both whenever you go to sleep."

Calienim studied her curiously. He never thought it was possible for parallel universes to exist outside of television or books. He felt as if he was being pulled in two different directions every time he closed and opened his eyes. He once found the idea of parallel worlds fascinating; the actuality was much less enthralling.

"… You believe me?"

Ms. Morrell gave him a very kind smile. "I believe in all sorts of unexplained phenomena," she admitted freely. "My belief is that sometimes… extraordinary things happen to ordinary people. I believe what you are experiencing… may not be just in your head."

"My therapist would probably disagree with you."

"I would never expect her to agree," she said with a small shrug. "I am not exactly a therapist myself, so it is probable that your Dr. Martin and I will never quite see eye to eye. I have a question for you though. Are you having difficulty keeping the two realities separate in your head?"

"… Yes."

Therapy sessions with Dr. Martin and grief counseling with Ms. Morrell continued on. He saw them both on a weekly basis. He was rather glad that they kept everything confidential, even from his parents. It gave him a certain sense of freedom to express everything he was feeling. He was also glad that they seemed to have different views.

Dr. Martin insisted that what he was experiencing was a coping mechanism. She said that the world in which his father lived was an elaborate, ongoing and recurring dream. Ms. Morrell had a different opinion. She encouraged him to research more into alternate realities and told him to find a way to separate the two universes when he admitted to getting confused.

Calienim often had trouble keeping everything organized in his head. He kept forgetting where he was or who he was supposed to be with. He was seeing two different realities unfold, witnessing the subtle changes between both. Everything looked and felt the same no matter who he was with though.

Using the nickname had been the easiest part.

Scott McCall, his best friend, once called him _Stylin' Stiles Stilinski _when they dressed up in suits one Halloween_. _It was just a play on his last name and it had been so long ago, but it was another way to separate everything. He insisted that everyone call him _Stiles_ from now on. His father thought it was just part of the grieving process. That he no longer wanted to be associated with the name his mother gave him because it hurt too much.

Stiles, as he was now called in that reality, did not correct his assumption.

Finding the wristbands had been a stroke of luck. He had been with his mother, trying to help shop for groceries at the local store, and the small box of elastic bands had been sitting there at the checkout counter. He bought a purple one on a whim. He put it on before he went to bed and when he woke up _there_, with his father… the band was no longer on his wrist. He ventured out and bought the green band for this world next.

Color coding made everything so much easier.

Every morning was the same, although now he knew who to expect when he ventured downstairs just by looking at his wrist. He purchased nondescript notebooks to keep journals of his experiences too, a different one for each reality. He wrote down everything, even the things that seemed unimportant. He had a list of similarities between the two worlds and a list of differences. It helped immensely.

Calienim lived with his mother in a world where his father was dead. His mother loved the color purple, so he wore the purple elastic band there. He met with a certified therapist three times a week. His room and name stayed the same. He and his mother talked about everything and she was teaching him how to cook in order to stay connected.

Stiles lived with his father in a world where his mother was dead. His father had green eyes, so he wore the green elastic band there. He met with a grief counselor twice a week. He tore his posters down and replaced them with new ones and made other subtle changes to his room. His father was more reticent to talk about anything and there was a noticeable distance between them.

Nothing was ideal and he was still confused most of the time, but he felt… more comfortable now. He could keep everything straight in his head at least.

Dr. Martin was upset that he was creating a new identity in one world. She thought it would eventually spawn consequences, such as an identity disorder or something. She said it would hinder any progress he could have at establishing that her world was the true reality. She wanted him to let go of the dream and accept her world as reality.

Ms. Morrell requested he continue researching parallel universes, and he did so, though partly because of his own curiosity. She seemed to think that something paranormal was happening with him and he was inclined to believe her. He liked the sound of it better than he was just making it all up in his head as a coping mechanism.

… If he was dreaming though and moving on meant that he would have to give up one of his parents… he had no desire to ever make progress.


End file.
